


Vibrant

by MisPronounce_and_MisAccent



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: AU where you see in color the first time you kiss your soulmate, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dumbass Rights, I cut down chapter 2 a bit cause honestly it Dragged, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pre-Canon, and, because they sort shit out pre-tour, its been long enough, siblings being siblings, this fic said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-05-02 14:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisPronounce_and_MisAccent/pseuds/MisPronounce_and_MisAccent
Summary: “Tell me why you hate talking about soulmates.”Percy blanched. “I don’t hate— I have no problem talking about soulmates.”“Oh really?” Monty countered, grinning in a way he hoped came off casual and charming, not desperate and tinged with the all too present sentiment ofGod-I-want-to-kiss-you. “Because from whatI’venoticed, the topic makes you practically squeamish. Might as well tell me why.”





	1. Chapter 1

How much more vibrant, Monty wondered, could the world get?

Black-and-white couldn’t be all that bad, really, not if Percy still looked so gorgeous in such muted tones. Not if Monty could still see the freckles decorating Percy’s checks like splattered paint, and notice the white gleam glinting in the dark of his eyes. Monty couldn’t imagine Percy looking any more lovely than he already did, color be damned, and surely he didn’t even need a soulmate if he could keep looking at Percy’s perfect, _perfect_ countenance.

But, _damn_ , did he want to know.

“I think I’m going out tonight,” Monty announced, falling back to sprawl himself over Percy’s lap. “Will you be keeping me company?”

Percy hummed and ran his fingers through the hair that had fallen over Monty’s eyes, pushing it back. With the dark strands out of the way, he could meet Percy’s fond gaze and watch the easy smile spread over his face. “Depends,” Percy said, light and teasing. “What type of outing will this be?”

“Are you implying that there is any sort of event that wouldn’t be made perfect merely by my presence?”

“Perish the thought,” Percy deadpanned, the tone belied by the smile he was barely forcing down and the pleasant tug of his fingers in Monty’s hair. “Really, darling, what are you thinking?”

“Oh,” Monty ventured, “just imagining an evening spent with pretty strangers and potential soulmates.”

And that was about where the fond teasing ended. Percy looked up and away from Monty, and took his hand from Monty’s hair, resting it instead on the arm of the couch. Disappointing, but not unpredictable. Percy had been squeamish about soulmates as long as Monty had thought to notice that kind of thing, and that squeamishness was about all that had kept Monty from kissing him, just to _see_ — 

“Sorry, Monty,” Percy said, and maybe if Monty hadn’t known him all their lives, he would’ve bought the apologetic tone. “I think I’ll leave you to have that adventure on your own.” Monty had only half-formed a pout when Percy looked back down at him. “I’m sure all those pretty strangers will thank me, getting you all on their own.”

Figuring he probably shouldn’t lie himself all over Percy when he was in this soulmate _thing_ was, Monty sat up and, with an exaggerated groan, collapsed so that his back was resting on Percy’s arm. (It wasn’t like he was going to keep from _all_ contact.) “But Perce—” he dragged out the word until he heard Percy laugh under his breath. “Everything is so dreadfully dull without you. Who’s going to help me weed out the bad people? Or fill the time between them? Who’s going to take that carriage home with me at the end of the night, the only one to stick around? Who’s—”

“Monty, I’m really just tired.” That was a lie, but Monty figured there was no point calling him on it. “You go have fun.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Monty whined the concession. “Under one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You tell me,” he started, turning so that instead of his back being flush to Percy’s shoulder, his chest was. “why you hate talking about soulmates.”

Percy blanched and looked away. “I don’t hate— I have no problem talking about soulmates.”

“Oh really?” Monty countered, grinning in a way he hoped came off casual and charming, not desperate and tinged with the all too present sentiment of _God-I-want-to-kiss-you_. “Because from what _I’ve_ noticed, the topic makes you practically squeamish. Might as well tell me why.”

Percy returned Monty’s smile in kind, but if he _really_ thought Monty couldn’t notice the way the tight-lipped expression differed from his actual grin— “I think you’re seeing things, Monty. It’s not like you ever bring up the subject, either.”

“I just did, and you are very pointedly not answering.”

As Percy rolled his eyes, the dark of his irises caught the light from the window opposite them. Fucking gorgeous. “What’s got you thinking about soulmates, Monty?”

“Say what you will about me, darling, but I can tell when someone’s dodging a question.” Monty stood and stretched, before holding out a hand to help Percy up as well.

Percy’s hand lingered in Monty’s for a beautifully long moment after they were both standing, but Monty knew where to let things end, and stepped away from him. He didn’t trust himself around Percy when they were talking about this. He smiled, and tried not to read disappointment into the half-second frown Percy’s expression slipped into as he stepped away. Because, in so short a moment that Monty must have imagined it, he was smiling again.

“Set a good example for me, then, and answer mine.”

Monty shrugged as he made his way over to the decanter. Perhaps the only good thing, besides Percy, about being back in the house was that preppy boarding schools were far more discerning about leaving alcohol around. “God, I don’t know, Perce.” It wasn’t even a lie. Most of the time, he forgot soulmates were even a thing; since hardly a tenth of people ever found theirs, and many not until quite a bit older than Monty, it wasn’t that much of a prevalent thing. But every so often, when he looked at Percy, he couldn’t help but wonder. “Suppose, when everything you see is just like this—” He gestured vaguely around him. “I forget that there’s anything else. But then sometimes you just, out of nowhere, remember. Yeah?”

“I suppose,” Percy said, pushing himself up to sit on the windowsill. Even better than it had looked reflected in his eyes, the sunlight haloing Percy was… holy. Angelic in a way that made Monty almost guilty about the entirely blasphemous things he was thinking, looking at his friend.

Christ, he needed that drink.

“Now, your turn,” Monty prompted, all too ready to get out of his head.

“Really, Monty, it just doesn’t interest me all that much,” Percy said, the shadows cast over his face hiding whether or not his expression was sincere. “I think it’s an irrelevant system, and a flawed one, and that it’s silly to stake one’s hope of a relationship on whether or not you can see in color the first time you kiss.”

“I figure it must be nice, though.” Monty paused to take a sip of his drink. “The artists won’t shut up about it, how empty the world without color seems, in comparison to the vibrant one.”

“It’s overrated.” When Monty frowned at him, Percy continued, “From what I’d guess. And lovely as anything, must be, but… useless, really. It isn’t like the world bothers with color; hell, most people can’t even name a good number of shades. It’s a luxury for the lucky.”

Monty smiled and tilted his glass towards Percy. “Well, I center my life around gaining as much luxury and luck as I can, so here’s hoping.” 

Percy chuckled. Maybe he didn’t have color, Monty thought, but there seemed a complexity to the sound of Percy’s voice, of his laugh, that was layered in a way he’d heard color described, and that was enough for him, he’d found. 

Because, the thing was, Monty really was alright with not finding a soulmate. He’d given it a good deal of thought, and the world seemed just fine as it was. Percy had said it perfectly; no one bothered with color, and things looked fine enough as they were. Sure, he wouldn’t _mind_ having one, he’d quite like it, really, but it was… 

Well, really, the whole wrench in the being-blase-about-soulmates plan was Percy. Because, on one hand, why would he need a soulmate if he had Percy? Even if Percy didn’t feel the same— which was a ‘though’ more than an ‘if’, he had to remind himself, lest he get too hopeful and try to kiss a boy with no interest— he couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than he loved Percy, soulmate or not, and Percy’s friendship was far better than any relationship he’d had in his life, so why bother with trying to find some maybe-connection that might as well have no bearing on his life?

On the other hand, he couldn’t quite get it out of his head that maybe, _maybe_ , Percy was his soulmate.

Which might just be some sort of deluded hope or desperation, he knew. He’d never heard talk of two men— or two ladies, for that matter— being soulmates, but for the record, never had he heard about a charming young rake falling head over heels in love with his male best friend. But that was beside the point, because even if they were, what would it matter? Monty would still inherit the manor and marry some woman his father picked out, and Percy still had a bright future going off and making the world a far better place than it currently was. Soulmates had no sway on that.

However, hope was not such an easily extinguished thing. 

“But I understand what you mean,” Monty finally continued, figuring it was only fair to give his own side of things. “I don’t really put much stock in it either, really. As much as I’d like a soulmate, it’s not really likely to happen, as many ladies have the pleasure of kissing me.”

“Don’t discount the lads,” Percy interjected, light and teasing, as if it wouldn’t turn Monty’s world on its head.

“Oh?” Monty questioned, trying to sound far more casual than he felt. “You think it could be? I’ve never been sure.”

Percy blinked, as if realizing what the objection there may be, and then looked down. He said nothing for a moment, stared at the shadow his lithe arms cast a shadow over the windowsill, a hint of a frown on his face. “I mean— I don’t suppose why not.”

“Percy Newton, I have seen you in a church before, you know there’s a reason to suppose why not.” Monty put down his drink, the ice clinking against the otherwise empty glass. He missed the proximity to Percy the way he did whenever they were more than a few feet apart, which was ridiculous, he knew, but couldn’t be helped. He walked over to join Percy on the sill. “The holiness of ‘heaven-made pairs’ blessed with color and the wretchedness of those who have ‘impure thoughts’ about members of the same sex are both fairly popular topics. And look, it is quite possible I am mixing things up, but those don’t exactly add up into ‘Monty’s soulmate could be a lad’, do they?”

Percy snorted and moved over so Monty could take the seat next to him. “The church doesn’t know about soulmates any better than you do. And they’re wrong about a lot of things.” He passed his fingers over Monty’s, then. It was a barely-there touch, not taking his hand, just reminding him that his was there to take. And Monty hadn’t given a damn about religion in longer than he could remember, but that didn’t make it easier to be told his attractions were inherently sinful, time and time again. And Percy knew that, without every asking, because he was Percy.

“Regardless,” Monty changed the subject, not wanting to dwell too much on the idea of his soulmate potentially being a lad, because that just led to him dwelling on the idea of his soulmate being Percy, and that would just lead to him trying to kiss Percy, and that would be messy. “Lad or lady, odds are I’d never find them. And even if I _did_ , what are the actual chances I’d be able to marry them? My father has an absurd list of requirements for the women I’m permitted to be seen with, and even if I found my soulmate and she met every single one of those expectations, I’m sure he’d force me to marry another girl, just to ensure my misery. I’d just end up heartbroken, so I think I’m better living life with my fun little dalliances and not getting too worried over that kind of thing.”

Then Percy really did take his hand, long fingers twining between Monty’s own. He didn’t say anything, didn’t comment on the way Monty’s voice had cracked when talking about that future, didn’t apologize, just held his hand. Monty took the opportunity to drop his head on Percy’s shoulder. “We could always run away,” Percy said, after a good moment. He was joking, obviously; Monty didn’t have to look up to hear the slight smile in his voice. And even though Monty knew it was a joke, even though he knew it was silly to even consider it—who would he be, even, without the family money?—thinking about a life with Percy was… Well, who needed color, when Percy could make him feel like that? “Head off to the hills, swear off marriage entirely, and you can have as many dalliances as your heart pleases.”

“Two dashing young men out in the countryside, without a thought to soulmates or weddings or commitment. We’d be the heart of the country’s rumor mill,” Monty joked, infusing increasing levels of drama into his tone until he could feel Percy laugh beneath him. “Monty and Percy, us against the world, stealing hearts and going on grand adventures.” He laughed. “It would be something, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Percy murmured, and the tone struck Monty immediately. It wasn’t light, it sure as hell wasn’t jovial; Monty didn’t know _what_ it was. Almost embarrassingly fast, Monty turned to look him in the eyes, and found that his expression matched his tone, one-to-one. The slim, closed-lipped smile, the soft eyes with irises shaded by long dark eyelashes, eyebrows drawn up and towards each other… Percy looked awed. He was looking at Monty like Monty was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And Monty— Monty wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss him because he loved him, because he wanted to know if they were fated by this flawed system, because someone as brilliant and radiant as Percy deserved to be kissed by someone who so adored him. He wanted to kiss Percy because it was what he himself wanted. He wanted to kiss Percy because who would look at someone so softly—drag their fingertips, slow and determined, down someone’s arm—without wanting to kiss?

He’s had nearly deluded himself into doing it, but then Percy’s hand found its destination, clamped around Monty’s wrist. Percy pulled him up as he stood, and any tension in the moment was dust. Then it was just Percy, standing there with a half-smile and not looking in the least affected by what just happened—because, Monty realized with that same dull ache that always arose when he let himself have the smallest dash of hope, nothing just happened. To Percy, it was just them. It was just a joke shared between friends, just platonic proximity and gazes that lingered because where else would they land?, and Monty was the fool for thinking otherwise.

“Are you still going out tonight?” Percy asked, letting go of Monty’s wrist and leaving him, shrouded in disappointment and monochrome, still standing by the windowsill. “I’m feeling more myself now; I’ll tag along if you still want me.”

And Monty, after giving himself just one more moment of self-pity, smiled. Because, well, he had to. Because as desperate as he was to know, he couldn’t help but read Percy’s distance as a rejection. And he knew it wasn’t, really. He knew that he couldn’t have gotten a ‘no’ in response to a question he never asked. And part of him, so desperately, wanted to ask. Wanted to pull Percy into a corner, late in the night, and lean in far enough so that Percy would have no choice but to either close the distance or reject Monty entirely. And maybe he’d do it— that night or the next or a week from then or maybe never. In that moment, it didn’t really matter. In that moment, he just smiled, and drifted over to where Percy stood, and, tragically carefree as ever, told an unchangeable truth in the tone of a fickle joke:

“Darling, I will always want you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> This one is months in the making, and im very excited to finally be posting it after it sitting in the docs for so long. that being said, it has now been over a year and a half since ive read this book in full, so i greatly apologize if i got anything egregiously wrong, timeline-wise. please let me know if so! this is meant to take place a couple weeks before canon, and hopefully that works, but if not, we can attribute some of the mistakes to the fact that this is an AU.
> 
> Please let me know any thoughts you had, and kudos are always greatly appreciated. again, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day!!


	2. Chapter 2

Monty was the most vibrant person Percy had ever known. There was an element about him that transcended looks, an intrinsic part of the flashy, confident facade and the softer, sadder truth that made up Monty, that would always be there. It lived in his laugh and his fashion and his jokes and his arm slung around Percy’s shoulder. He was bright, so bright, and Percy was blessed to have the pleasure of knowing him.

But he was getting too sentimental for himself. Monty had gotten in his head the day before, all that talk of soulmates and the future and their friendship. Percy didn’t like thinking about soulmates any more than he liked talking about them— and damn, he must not be hiding things as well as he thought, because Monty called him on that— but it was something hard to avoid, when he lived in a world of such colors, which always brought him back to Monty.

The least of which being the several pieces of Monty’s wardrobe that had found their home crumbled on Percy’s floor. With a sigh, he began to pick up the ensemble, starting with the fine blue shirt that was just a few shades lighter than Monty’s eyes, which looked so stunning on the boy that Percy wondered on earth he picked it out without seeing color himself. But then there were the light gray pants, which looked so god awful with the pale shirt that Percy would’ve thought Monty should be able to tell that even without color. The man was a mystery.

As Percy brought the pants to the closest they could be to well-folded in their wrinkled state, he saw Monty stir out of the corner of his eye. The night before, he had managed to get on a pair of Percy’s pajamas over his underclothes before passing out unceremoniously in Percy’s bed. Percy, in turn, had taken the couch, not quite feeling up to sharing a bed with Monty. If he had partaken in the alcohol a bit more, maybe, or without all that talk of soulmates crowding his mind full of maybes that could never come to fruition, he might’ve woken up next to Monty, entirely chastely, right as Monty stirred beside him. But, in the yellow light of morning, he couldn’t exactly regret it. He was better off without that ache.

“Good morning, darling,” Percy greeted, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. As the mattress sunk with his weight, Monty rolled towards him, the blanket falling off him, revealing his torso. And, as good as Percy knew he was at identifying meaning, and as much as he knew this held none, he couldn’t help but listen to the pull of his heartstrings promising him that there had to be some reason why Monty looked so _right_ , wrapped up in Percy’s pajamas and waking up in his bed. “I’m here to tell you, if you don’t get out of bed soon, that good morning will soon turn into a good afternoon, and I’d quite like to have some daylight hours with you around.”

Monty groaned and threw his forearm over his face. Percy curled his hand around Monty’s wrist and moved it out of the way. “’S too damn bright,” he mumbled, eyes still shut tight. Percy pushed the brown-gold curls out of Monty’s eyes, allowing his fingers to linger in the knotted mess until his gaze was met with Monty’s own, startlingly blue one.

“Good morning,” Percy repeated.

“With you around, love, any morning would be good,” Monty said, pushing himself up so he was propped up against Percy’s headboard. “That being said—” he buried his head in his hands. “Aside from your presence, I’m not a fan.” He brought his eyes away from his face and stared at them, as if they were hiding something from him. “What the hell? I didn’t even drink last night. All that much.”

“No, I’d blame this one on your horrendous sleep patterns.”

“You were out with me all night; you are in no place to talk.” Monty raised his hands over his head, and the fabric of the nightshirt’s sleeves pooled around his elbows. All of Percy’s clothes were always too long for him, and damn did Percy love seeing them on him. “I think breakfast is in order; I don’t feel sick to my stomach at the moment and I’m going to take advantage of that.”

“Eat up here?”

“No, Percy, I’d prefer to eat with your family in this state,” Monty deadpanned. “Yeah, call it up here, if you could. You’re more than enough company for me.”

Percy couldn’t help the smile playing on his lips as he went out to call down for breakfast; his family and the chef were well-used to it by then, Percy and Monty’s morning meals taken alone in Percy’s room. It was a tradition, almost, and something Percy could already feel himself missing. How many more mornings would they get, like this?

It had felt like a lot of last-chances, lately. A lot of wondering if a visit to that place would ever come again, and if it really mattered. A lot of wondering when, if ever, he would tell Monty, about any of it. His epilepsy and the truth about Holland, on one hand, and on the other, his love and the truth about his soulmate… how much of it was better left unsaid?

As he looked back in on Monty, pale and lovely in the sunlight, he thought ‘all of it’ and ‘none of it’ in the same moment.

“Thank you, darling,” Monty said, halfway between the bed and the couch, as Percy walked back into the room. “We have some time before that’s ready, don’t we?”

“I’d say so.” Percy perched himself on the arm of the couch, next to where Monty threw himself onto the cushions. This couch was one of the few items in his house—in most of the houses Percy had ever seen—that was clearly made with the intent to be the color it was: a rich, deep burgundy with hints of gold paint on the woodwork. It was beautiful. And it was _his_. He’d learned quickly enough that demanding things of the world didn’t work out well for him, but this was his, and he ensured it stayed that way. Color itself was scarce in the indoor worlds—who would pay for dyed items when they couldn’t even be sure the items were dyed?—and Percy… he wanted things. He wanted things bright and vibrant around, because as much as it ached, he needed the constant reminder that he could see in color, that even if he wasn’t it for Monty, Monty was it for him. Bright, beautiful things proved that.

“Lovely.” Even still in nightclothes, Monty looked regal spread over the red expanse of the couch, with that quirked smile. “I was thinking about what we discussed yesterday.”

Percy immediately felt himself freeze under Monty’s watch. Damn it, maybe Monty was right about him being obvious. “When did you have time for that? You were half-asleep from the moment we left.”

“There were a good few hours between our conversation and that.”

Percy raised his eyebrows. “I’d assumed you were a bit distracted with— what did you say her name was?”

“Elizabeth. Although, I am skeptical. I got the sense that she was lying about that.” Percy hoped that he would follow that line of conversation, lesser-of-two-evils as it may be. Hearing Monty talk about his latest fling, though never an enjoyable activity for him, was far preferable to the alternative. But Monty could be annoyingly stubborn when he pleased. “And, though you doubt me, I can think and flirt at the same moment, Perce. I am not entirely a one-track mind.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Monty laughed and rested his hand on Percy’s shoulder. “But, before you derailed me— I noticed, Percy Newton, don’t try to act like you aren’t avoiding it— I said I wanted to talk about our conversation yesterday.”

He thought briefly of pretending to hear the chef call, or smell smoke, or anything else to get the hell out of this conversation, because Monty was actually quite clever, and Percy wasn’t sure how many more of these conversations he could dance his way through before Monty figured out. But any of that would be such obvious deflection. He couldn’t have Monty call him out _again_. “I wasn’t avoiding, darling. What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, _no_ , of _course_ you weren’t.” He nudged Percy with his shoulder, before his expression fell to somber. “But, well, I was thinking, about it all, and about— about what you said about the possibility of it being a lad, for me I mean, and I was thinking about _us_ —” As Monty rambled, Percy felt himself freeze under the hand on his shoulder. As if making up for the lack of movement in his body, his heart promptly began racing. He knew he must be blushing, dark pink high in his cheeks, and he hoped, being as colorblind as he was, Monty wouldn’t notice. But that was exactly the issue, wasn’t it?

But Monty was still talking. “And, with all that, Percy, I don’t see why it isn’t— why it _isn’t_ us?”

Percy didn’t mean to, he really didn’t, but it was just so— so close and far at the same moment, so impossible yet lovely, and it was really either a laugh or a sob so— so he laughed.

And immediately saw Monty’s tentative, worried smile fall.

Percy stopped laughing as immediately as he’d begun. “Oh, Monty, we’re, we’re not—”

“No, yeah,” Monty interrupted, with a forced smile and pink spread over his cheeks, ears, neck. When Monty blushed, it wasn’t a small thing. “Yeah, that was— silly. Yeah.”

“No!” Percy corrected, because he was an _idiot_ , apparently, but he just… he hated when Monty thought like that. Like his ideas were silly and deserving of ridicule. “No, Monty I wasn’t— I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“That’s all there was to laugh at, darling.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous, Monty, it just— we aren’t.”

Monty wasn’t quite looking at him, but wasn’t quite looking away, either. There was a tenseness in his shoulders and his crossed arms and the intonation his voice carried as he spoke, “No, if you think it was ridiculous, that’s _fine_ , I just thought—”

“I really didn’t, Monty. I didn’t mean to laugh, you just caught me by surprise.” Percy reached out, laid his hand on Monty’s upper arm, and stayed quiet until Monty looked at him. “I… it would— I see why you’d think that. It makes sense. But we just aren’t.”

“But you don’t know that.” And Percy wished, _wished_ he didn’t. Wished he could lean over and kiss Monty, even though nothing would come of it, just to see. Wished he didn’t know that, when he pulled away, only one of them would be seeing in color. 

“Is it— you know I didn’t mean it like a _romantic_ thing, Percy.” Monty said, which was _fine_. Percy wasn’t Monty’s soulmate, he _knew_ that, and if the universe had wanted Monty to be in love with him, certainly it wouldn’t have given him a defective, unrequited bond. “This isn’t some ploy to get you to kiss me, I thought— platonic soulmates are a thing, Perce, and I thought. I thought we—”

“Monty—”

“No, listen, I care about you, Percy. More than anyone else I’ve ever met. And I haven’t… I lied when I said I just started thinking about this. I have been. And not _seriously_ , because I still don’t know if the whole _us-being-lads_ would be a hindrance here, but I still thought about it. You mean so much to me, Percy Newton, and if it isn’t you, I don’t know who else it could be,” Monty said, entirely unconscious of how his words left Percy with the wind knocked out of him.

Monty had told Percy he loved him, before, and Percy had returned the sentiment. Not often, for either of them, but it slipped into conversations as easy as it would between family. And Percy believed him— of course he believed him; he wasn’t in the habit of distrusting Monty— but never had it hit him exactly how true the words were, not until that moment, not until Monty looked at him with those damn blue eyes and told Percy exactly what he wanted to hear.

What a damn shame it was impossible.

“Monty, I…” What on earth could he say to that? What on earth, besides the too-truthful admissions that Percy had sealed up for so long? “I feel the same way. Of course. You’re the first person in my life, Monty, you know that.” He trailed his fingers down Monty’s arm until they found Monty’s hand and held it, the cool tones of Monty’s skin and the warm ones of Percy’s offsetting one another where they met. “But it isn’t us.”

“Darling, you can’t just say that and refuse to explain why you’re so insistent,” Monty said, so obviously aiming for lighthearted, trying to escape the emotional place he’d gone with his previous words, but he couldn’t mask the annoyance and fear seeping through his words like the pale green color of tea spreading through a porcelain kettle of water. “I just don’t see how it would hurt, just to check, because you can’t be sure until you’ve _tried_ , and if you say you feel— if I matter to you that much then there’s at least somewhat of a chance, so—”

“Monty, we’ve kissed before.” The words fell from Percy’s mouth in a jumbled rush. It was a truth he’s held in for years now, and of all the things he was hiding, it was the safest, but that wasn’t much of a reassurance. It was, really, a door cracked open. Only a sliver of the room inside was visible, but now that it was unlocked, all it would take was a light push to reveal everything else that hid inside.

And Monty stared at him, as if he could see the lines of all those secrets written on Percy’s face, for one moment, before he whispered, quiet as anything, “What?”

“We’ve kissed, Monty. And you said it yourself, the world is still black-and-white, so I’m not yours.”

Monty blinked at him, slow, and then shook his head. “Perce, are you joking? I think I’d remember if I—” He paled. “Oh, god, was I drinking? If I was, Percy, I—”

“You weren’t drunk, Monty, you were three,” it came out with a laugh, and it wasn’t funny, not really, but he’d been sitting on this for so long. And there it was, out in the open, terrifying. Like when Monty would jump out at him from behind a door, when they were kids, and instead of screaming, Percy would double over in fits of laughter. “I was three. Just playing around, as kids do. Hell, of course you don’t remember it.”

“But you do?”

“Not quite, but I know it happened.” He had based a decade and a half off of knowing it had happened, and knowing the outcome. Knowing what he could say to Monty, knowing what he couldn’t, and knowing how to mask the ever-present disappointment that Monty was joyous in a monochrome world while Percy was miserable in his vibrant one. 

“I told my aunt, right after.” He started with the truth, and if it omitted some details, it did, that was what it was. “I don’t really remember it myself, what actually happened, but I can piece it together. I was telling her about my day and I said that I’d kissed you—” _‘I’d said that the world looked different, that everything looked different, and she smiled and asked me if I’d kissed one of my friends, and I told her I kissed you, and that smile dropped immediately.’_ “And she told me that it was okay, because I was young, but that I shouldn’t do that when I got older, because boys don’t kiss other boys—” _‘Because a boy’s soulmate can’t be another boy, because it wouldn’t be safe to talk about, because—’_ “And because if I did it again, or talked about it, I might… she told me I might lose you,” he whispered the last words, as if speaking too loud would alert some higher power that that was a possibility, and make it happen. He breathed once, twice, and then looked at Monty.

Monty was gripping onto Percy’s hand like a lifeline, staring at him.

“So no,” Percy continued, ignoring the crack in his voice. “I don’t remember it. But I remember the fear, Monty, of being told I might lose my best friend. I barely even knew what kissing was, really, at the time, but I knew that losing you was a consequence of kissing you, whatever that meant. And, so, I knew, down to my soul, that I shouldn’t do it.” It was a plausible explanation, based on many truths, just leaving out the one part that included him being reminded of that fact that they had kissed any time he opened his eyes to the world around him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Monty finally said and hell, were there answers for that.

He remembered growing up, knowing to never ever tell Monty that he saw the world in color, but not really understanding why.

He remembered when he and Monty were first officially taught the meaning of soulmates, in the barest of terms, by their childhood tutor. He remembered the confusion that came when with hearing two contradictory statements: Monty complaints about the world being black-and-white, and the tutor’s promise that, when a pair kissed for the first time, they both saw in color. 

He remembered researching, looking up unrequited soulmates,—hoping it was impossible, and that Monty was just hiding it, too, only to learn that it was very much a real, if rare, thing—platonic soulmates,—because if he was alone in this bond, surely the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to make him be _in love_ with Monty; pointless, because he soon found himself falling for Monty anyway—and, eventually, just the colors—because if he was stuck in this bright world alone, he wanted to learn the name of every color and turn his thoughts to poetry, describing his soulmate in the way someone as lovely as Monty deserved. And he did— turn his thoughts to poetry, that is, and it wasn’t long before those thoughts crashed out onto paper like a tumultuous ocean shades darker than Monty’s eyes, staining the paper with pretty, useless words and sentences so rich with color that he hid them away, tied in blue ribbon and tucked in a corner of a drawer where Monty would never think to look.

He had been lonely, so lonely, keeping it all welled up within him. Selfish as it was— and he knew full well it was— he hadn’t wanted to tell Monty what he was telling him now, that they had kissed and it hadn’t worked. It was selfish, and it didn’t even matter, because Percy knew what the one-sidedness of his bond meant, but once he’d fallen in love with Monty—

Once he’d fallen for Monty, he wanted so desperately for Monty to think about him that way, that he couldn’t, _couldn’t_ tell him he was fated for someone else.

“I didn’t think about it.” He had turned the words over in his mouth until they stung his taste buds, bitter and false. Monty deserved the truth, but that wasn’t much a sweeter thing. “In the beginning, obviously, I thought if I talked about it I’d lose you, and I couldn’t do that, but after a while… Well, I’m not your soulmate, so the kiss didn’t really matter or amount to anything and I just— it slipped my mind.”

“It slipped your mind,” Monty repeated, incredulous. “It slipped— you didn’t tell me.”

“I am sorry, Monty. ” And then, with the same morbid, painful curiosity that made him learn the exact name of every hue in Monty’s eyes, he continued, “It never occurred to me that you’d even consider me as an option, that I would need to rule myself out.” 

Monty’s blush had faded over their conversation, but rose again with Percy’s words, charming as ever. The color wasn’t burgundy like the couch nor red like the glasses of wine he’d indulged in the night before. Rather, it was a light pink, like the petals of the globe amaranth grown in the Montague’s greenhouse, full and lovely and tapering off at the ends into the cream color of his skin. “You don’t— it’s fine, Perce.” And Percy wasn’t the only one lying. “It’s fine but— are you sure?”

“Positive.”

They said nothing, either of them, for a moment. Monty’s grip had stopped being so firm, but he hadn’t let go, and Percy thought that might be the end of it. That maybe he could keep the rest all locked away, because as much as it ached, the pain had grown dull over fifteen years, and the bitter taste lying left on his tongue was a far fresher sting.

But Monty didn’t just let things lie.

“But if we were kids— Percy, you said it yourself that you don’t even remember it. How do you even know works when someone’s that young?”

And there was no answer. No digestible truth, no satisfying lie. So he asked: “Are you sure this isn’t a ploy to kiss me?”

“Perce,” Monty said, unamused, and turned Percy’s face to his. Percy had been taller than him for a good while now, and sitting on the raised arm of the couch only heightened that. In Percy’s shadow, his blue eyes looked darker, more serious, less playful. “I just— I think we should try.”

“We shouldn’t,” he said, a cheap stand-in for the truth of, _I couldn’t._ But even then, he could hear his ownresolve weakening in the waver of his voice. Monty _really_ wanted this. And it, it couldn’t really hurt, could it? It was just a kiss, and Percy was smarter than to read too far into something so meaningless.

And, if he was being honest, in that moment, he wanted to kiss Monty more than he wanted anything else in the world.

“You’re really serious about this?” Percy asked, needing to give Monty one last out, one last chance to refuse him before Percy threw himself into this.

“I wouldn’t be dragging this out I weren’t.” Then, softer: “But, really, Perce. You don’t— I’m not— obviously you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to. But I really think—”

“No, let’s do it,” Percy interrupted. In the following moment, tied up with Monty’s jolt of surprise and the silence surrounding them, fear took root in his gut and wound up around his ribcage like unchecked ivy. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” He inhaled, slowly, then, already heavy with worry, spoke: “This means a lot to you and I want you to be happy. So—” He brushed the back of his fingers over Monty’s cheek, from the corners of his wide eyes to the edge of his jaw, slackened with his barely-open mouth. He curled his fingers around the nape of Monty’s neck, his thumb on throat. He could feel Monty’s racing pulse.

“Perce,” Monty whispered. He looked stricken, blush far past amaranth, now a cherry-blossom pink high in his cheekbones. “Percy, you really don’t have to. I don’t— I don’t want to _force_ you.”

After a moment of thought, Percy swivelled around, planting one knee on the couch to Monty’s far side, and let the other fall to the opposite side of Monty’s lap. His hand went to Monty’s cheek, tracing up where his blush began to fade at the corners of his face. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, but—” Monty faltered, then hesitantly rested his hands on Percy’s shoulders. “I know I was pushing you about it, but that— that was more to find out an answer why you didn’t want to than to— I mean of course I want to kiss you— to find out, I mean, but you don’t have to—”

“I’m going to kiss you now, Monty, is that alright?”

Monty stayed open-mouthed and speechless for a moment that hung heavy and long in the warm air, before shutting both his mouth and his eyes, nodding, and leaning in just slightly. It was the most open invitation someone could ask for and, still, Percy hesitated.

He hesitated because, even now, it felt like taking advantage. Even though Monty knew it wouldn’t work, he _still_ wanted to do this. He insisted! But he had a hope Percy didn’t (he _didn’t_ , he wouldn’t hope because he _knew_ Monty didn’t see in color, he knew he couldn’t have Monty, and that there wasn’t some fluke, and that Monty would still see in black-and-white when the kiss was done, so he just forced down any painful fluttering in his chest), and that seemed unfair, somehow.

But he was just inches from Percy and he was counting on a kiss and Percy knew he couldn’t keep backing out. So he tilted Monty’s chin up with one hand, took in all the colors Monty had given him, and kissed Monty, for the second time in his life.

It could barely be called a kiss, Percy thought, his mouth resting against Monty’s as still and chaste as possible, because it was easier than thinking anything else, anything dangerous, he might think in the moment. If he let himself think, his mind would get all caught up in its silly poetry, and he’d think things like how the warmth of Monty’s lips wasn’t hot nor demanding like fire, but rather comforting like the sunlight cast down on the couch around them. Or how much the simple contact seemed more likely to reduce him to tears than the culmination of every breathtaking, full-color sight he’d ever viewed. Or how he couldn’t cry, because tear streaks shined on a face in a way even colorblind people could see, and that’s exactly what Monty would still be when he opened his eyes, and that only made the tears further itch to be shed.

Most of all, he didn’t think about how much it felt like coming home.

He pulled away, barely a second later. He knew what it felt like to kiss him, now, and that would have to suffice for the rest of his life. Because, he reminded himself, his wasn’t a change. Just a bump in a long road of understanding that he could never have Monty. But they were friends, and even if they would go their separate ways at the end of the summer, Percy would always have their memories— of this too, now— and that would be enough.

It only occurred to him, moments later, that Monty hadn’t opened his eyes since they broke apart.

Monty’s one hand lingered on Percy’s shoulder, but the other lifted, curling around the side of Percy’s face. It was a firm pressure, warm like Monty always was. “Monty—” Percy murmured, wanting desperately for Monty to open his eyes, see it didn’t work, and stop touching him. Wanting, just as much, for Monty to keep doing exactly what he was doing. “Monty, it—”

“Perce,” Monty interrupted, just a quiet sound in the small space between them. He pressed his thumb to the center of Percy’s lips, a clear ‘ _quiet_ ’ gesture. He then removed it, and pulled Percy to him so their foreheads rested on each other’s. “Percy. Can I—”

Percy liked to believe in his ability to abstain from tempting things that would hurt him in the long run— too much alcohol, punching Monty’s father square in the face, confessing his fated, unrequited, irrevocable love for Monty— but even saints had their limits, and Percy was part of no holy order. Before Monty could finish the question, Percy rushed over him, “Yes.”

And then Monty kissed him.

It was nothing like the first kiss, still and soft and gentle. This was fast, rough, and desperate, all lips and hands and tongue and teeth and oh _God_. Straddling Monty didn’t so much seem to be an act of comfort now as much as a needed position, because he needed to be close to him, every inch of his body pressed to his. Percy couldn’t— he couldn’t think it was all _Monty_ — all Monty and _God, how was he supposed to go back to life without this?_

“Monty— Monty—” Percy said, breathless; Monty’s arm around his torso feeling like it would be all too happy to restrict his air flow. “Monty, there are people in the house.” His door wasn’t open, of course, and it wasn’t like his staff and family were prone to walking in unannounced, but if they happened to, there was no possible way to write off Monty’s mouth on his neck and his hand unbuttoning Percy’s shirt. 

“We’d hear them,” Monty protested, eyes still firmly shut. “Just— just a bit—”

“It didn’t work,” Percy rushed out, because as lovely as the lingering feeling of Monty’s lips on his skin was, it couldn’t rival the acidic pit in his stomach and the feeling that he was lying every moment that Monty didn’t have full clarity. “Nothing— nothing changed. You can open your eyes.”

Monty leaned away with a sigh, but didn’t do as Percy said. “I… I can’t express how much I don’t want to.”

“It’s alright, Monty. We’re still— it doesn’t matter that you don’t see in color—” another fucking lie; after _that_ kiss, it was the most important, most tragic thing in the universe that he wasn’t Monty’s soulmate. “We’re still friends and that’s what’s important.”

“Christ, Perce.” Monty covered his face with his hands, rubbing them over his eyes, once, twice, before pulling them away. When he did, his eyes were open and blue and narrowed with that exact disappointment Percy had been dreading. “Shit,” Monty muttered, and Percy took that opportunity to shift off of Monty’s lap to sit on the couch next to him. The burgandy expanse of the couch separating them felt uncrossable.

“Darling,” he said, before wondering if he was still allowed to use that endearment. “Monty, it’s really alright. There is someone for you, and you will find that person, I—”

“I don’t want anyone else!” Monty said, and it might’ve been a yell if he wasn’t so breathless. “Obviously. Percy I—” he buried his head in his hands once more. “I meant it, when I said that I couldn’t imagine it being anyone but you. I don’t— I don’t _want_ it to be anyone but you.”

Percy could feel the tightness of his breath. What could he say to that? Percy wasn’t an idiot; he knew exactly what Monty meant when he said those things to him. Hell, he’d been half-sure when Monty kept insisting on kissing him, and nearly positive by the time the actual kiss rolled around. And it was so, so damn hard to not pull Monty back to him, in the same moment taking what he wanted and giving Monty exactly what _he_ wanted, in the same moment, making them both _happy_. But he couldn’t. He could never really have Monty, nor could he live with himself if he stole Monty away from the person he was meant to be with, all for his own gain.

It hurt, it hurt so much as he took Monty’s hand and said, “But I’m not. And that’s alright.”

“No, it fucking _isn’t_ , Percy. It should be us. You— you felt that kiss, didn’t you? That wasn’t… It is never like that, Perce, not with anyone. I’ve never felt anything close to the way I feel about you for anyone else and, maybe I’m shoving my foot in my mouth here, Percy, but after that kiss I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in feeling what I do.”

And Monty, beneath the loud words and the flushed face, looked actually, genuinely scared. Even if Percy could’ve stood lying to him anymore, he couldn’t stand that expression. “You’re not.” He held Monty’s hand tighter. There was a slight, lips-parted smile on Monty’s face that etched hope into his expression, and it made Percy feel sick. He had to dash that hope. He didn’t want to, and that tiny smile could serve as an easy out, a justification that he would be right in letting himself be with Monty. But he was stronger than that. “I— I feel that way about you, too, Monty. For ages, I have. I can’t tell you how much I’ve wished, how much I’ve desperately wanted to be it for you. But I’m not.”

“I don’t care. I don’t give a damn about soulmates, not if it isn’t us. It _should_ be us, and if it isn’t, that’s not on you and me. It’s on whoever decided this shit. I want to— I want you, Percy.” 

God, this was worse. This was so much worse than Monty not loving him, and Percy was an idiot for ever wishing Monty felt this way for him. This _hurt_ ; not the dull ache of the everpresent reminder that he would never be it for Monty, but something more like a thin dagger that had been, without him noticing, impaled in his chest. If he left it in, if he let himself have Monty, it would kill him, but that didn’t make it any more painless, the act of drawing it out.

But he’d survived pain before.

“And one day, you’ll want a soulmate. I can’t give you that.”

“I don’t need you to.” Then, pulling his hand out of Percy’s, “It was you, you know, who said this was a flawed system. You said soulmates didn’t matter, that you shouldn’t base a relationship off something as useless as seeing color. Why are we any different?”

“I said that to keep you from asking questions. You know why, now—” and it _still_ wasn’t the full truth, he reminded himself, but at least he didn’t feel so much like a liar— “and even though what I said has merit, this is exactly why we’re different. I care about you, Monty, more than anyone or anything in the world. I care about you differently than the way lads feel about their best friends. You are— you’re the single most important person to me, in so many ways, and I agree entirely that that should be enough.” he breathed in, and out. Heavy. “But there’s someone out there for you, darling. I wish that someone were me—” and what an understatement that was— “but we know I’m not. And I cannot, I can’t stand to think I’m keeping you from someone you’ll love far more than me.”

“Percy, if you think there is anyone out there that I could— that I—” He stumbled over the word, and Percy regretted being the first one to bring up the word ‘love’. “That could mean more to me than you do, I really don’t think you’ve been paying attention.”

“I have been paying attention, Monty,” because if there was one thing Percy could lay claim to, it was giving Monty his attention. “I’ve ‘paid attention’ to every flirtation you’ve had, I read those letters about Sinjon, I went along all those times you went out looking for soulmates. Clearly, you want one, and I can’t— I can’t bear to be a stand-in until you find yours.”

Monty’s face was flushed, not some lovely pink shade, but rather a red, someone half between flustered and angry, like the red tint on autumn leaves struggling to break away from their captor trees. “I didn’t— You’re not a stand-in, Perce, how could you even— even think that? Everyone else— for as long as I’ve known how I feel, that is— everyone else has been a stand-in for _you_.” 

Percy sighed, a long heavy exhale, as if with the breath he could cast out every mounting thought that he should just give in, let himself have Monty. It was what Monty wanted, so it must— No. No, Percy was smarter than that. He knew what would hurt him. “Last night, Monty. _Last night_ you said you wanted to go out looking for soulmates. That isn’t generally the behavior of someone who doesn’t want to find theirs.”

“I was trying to get you to talk about it! Jesus. And if I was with you, I wouldn’t be _looking_ for my soulmate.”

“But it would only be a matter of time—”

“How lowly do you actually think of me, Percy,” Monty interrupted, crossing further from flustered into angry. “That you think I would go around kissing other people while I was with you? I wouldn’t— I’m not _disloyal_.”

“I never said you were—”

“Really? Because how else would I be finding my soulmate, something you think I’m so keen on doing, that wouldn’t involve going behind your back?”

“I don’t think you would! I don’t. But I don’t want you to have to. I want you to find your soulmate, even though it isn’t me, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I want— I want you to be happy, Monty.”

“Then how about you fucking listen to me when I tell you what would make me happy?” Monty raked his fingers through his hair, cream running through brown-gold and tugging against the pink edges of his face. “If you don’t want me,” his voice was low, quieter, cracking on the word ‘want’ like it hurt to say, “just say so. If you don’t want this, or if it’s too dangerous or if you want to wait for your soulmate or _whatever_ it may be that makes it impossible for this to work, tell me, and I won’t bring it up again. I love being your friend, Perce, and if that’s what you want, I’m fine.

“But you are _not_ allowed to place this on me. I’m not the one keeping this from happening. You aren’t making me happy, or protecting me, or giving me some better ending by calling this off, _I’m_ not the one whose feelings are preventing us from being together. And if this is ending before it could begin, I’m not letting the blame for that be put on me.”

“I—” Percy knew he had a point. It wasn’t fair that this was how it was, that they loved each other but that Percy wasn’t the one Monty was meant to be with, that Percy had a defective bond and Monty had to suffer for it. And Percy wished he had a better reason to give. Wished. But he’d wished so many things that day and still, nothing had turned out right. So he settled back on the truth, as loathe as Monty might be to hear it. “If— if I had you, and you left me, it would destroy me, Monty. I can’t—” but anything else had already been said. “I can’t.”

“God,” Monty said, the red color faded back to pink, his eyebrows no longer tight-knit, not frowning, lips just gently parted. He looked so, so tired. “You really haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” Percy couldn’t meet his eyes. They stayed there in silence, for what must have been only a few seconds, but seemed to draw out like pulling the final few inches of that blade from his chest. “I’m going home,” Monty said, finally.

Percy could do nothing but nod, as Monty picked up the half-folded clothes on the corner of the bed and walked out of the room without a second glance, or a final word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny how I'm worse at writing percy, and i prefer writing monty, but i give percy the backstory that requires a 7k word chapter. sometimes, you just play yourself.
> 
> regardless, thank you so much for reading!! i hadn't realized it had been so long since i posted the last chapter. i actually do have this all pre-written, but i get a bit distracted in my editing process. next chapter should be up within the week! Please kudo and comment, your words are my lifeblood. have a lovely day!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: monty is on the verge of a panic attack briefly in the middle of this chapter. it's barely described, and rather light, but if you want to skip, just skip the next few paragraphs following monty talking to felicity.

“Put that away,” Monty hissed, grabbing at the book out in Felicity’s hand. For a small romance novel, it was heavy as hell; even with the lack of friction from Felicity’s gloves, it took a few tries for Monty to wrench it out of her hands. 

But she must have been stronger than he thought, because she managed to grab it back in half the time. And then proceed to smack his arm with it. 

“Christ, Felicity! If this bruises, I’ll—”

“Don’t take my things, and we won’t have an issue,” she responded, opening the book to a random page. Monty could admire the defiance— they were supposed to be paying attention to the various art pieces in the gallery; not that he was, either— but he was annoyed and petty. And bored. And he had no desire to suffer boredom alone. 

He managed to actually get the book out of her hands long enough to tuck it in his inner jacket pocket, out of her reach. “We’re supposed to ‘focus on the art’, I thought?” He mocked.

Felicity scowled. She was going to get wrinkles. “Of your bad traits, Monty, I think I like your pettiness the least.”

“I don’t your insinuation that I have multiple bad traits.” Felicity shot him a glare from behind oval reading lenses perched on her nose. It truly added insult to the injury of being forced to be here, that he was tasked to look after her— and have her look after him. It was almost like their father didn’t trust either of them to be good representatives of the family. “Pay attention to the art, Felicity, isn’t that important?”

“Oh, like the art is what you’ve been ogling.”

Monty didn’t respond to that, just sent what he assumed was a forlorn gaze over to the other side of the room. She was really properly beautiful, the girl he’d been talking to before he’d been dragged away by the menace that was his sister. The girl— Larissa— was short, paler than Monty, with light eyes and hair, long and pin-straight and swept over her shoulder so it cascaded down her back. Looking at her again, some treacherous part of his mind supplied that, appearance-wise, she was Percy’s exact opposite. And, it added, maybe there was some great avoidance he was doing by seeking out a girl like that.

He told that part of his mind to shut it.

Larissa had been funny, and kind, and far more interesting than Felicity’s insolence or the paintings on the wall. They’d bonded over the shared misery of being at this gallery opening of an artist under both their fathers’ patronages, both as some pale imitation of philanthropy. And it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Henry Montague Sr. had no taste whatsoever, but, god. It was horrendous.

In a place full of shit art and worse people, they were both eager to mock the displays, and if they’d strayed a bit out of the path of most of the paintings for more private conversation, that was no one’s business. Except, _apparently_ , Felicity’s. Monty’s sister had taken it upon herself to drag him away from the only actually beautiful thing in that gallery. (Yes, he had used that line on Larissa. She’d laughed, but not like— not in a _mean_ way. He hoped.)

Her company had really been lovely. He’d missed talking to someone his age, seeing as Percy was quite obviously disinterested in contacting him. Which was _fine_. If Percy could go a week without reaching out to Monty, Monty could do the damn same. And he wasn’t lonely, either. He could find people— like Larissa— to talk to, and they would be just as good company.

He wasn’t even convincing himself with that.

Of course, he had no doubt in his mind that he and Percy would right themselves again. They’d fought before ( _not like this_ , the more anxious part of his mind supplied, _not where you spilled your heart to him just for him to reject you_ ), and it was no time at all before they agreed that avoiding each other was ridiculous. It would happen. Besides, the Tour was in less than a week, and no way in hell would they spoil their last summer together just because of a disagreement.

Except it wasn’t a disagreement. It was a rejection. Sugar-coated with platitudes and feeble concerns as it was, it was a genuine, real rejection. Whether Percy actually he meant what he said about not wanting to keep Monty from his soulmate, or was just unwilling to dedicate himself to a relationship, or maybe Percy didn’t actually feel for him at all, and just said he did to pad the rest of the rejection, it didn’t really matter in the end. Percy didn’t want him. And he wanted Percy more than anything.

But they could come back from that, too.

They had to.

“Pretentious,” he heard Felicity mutter from off to his side. It was as good a time as any, he thought, to wrench himself out of his spiral of self-pity for the time being. He looked over to the painting she was staring at, and frowned.

“It isn’t that bad,” he said. It was horrid, like everything else in the gallery, but significantly less horrid than its neighbors, Monty thought. And Monty didn’t know shit about art, but something about the painting seemed— the others were so— it was better, in some way. Sure, it was flowers and what he figured was the back of a woman’s head, but there was something different about the… He didn’t have the words for it. But it was different. “Comparatively.”

“Funny,” Felicity said, deadpan. But it hadn’t been a joke, so he wasn’t too offended. “But, fair.” She looked at the placard beneath the painting, and frowned again. “God. It’s so— I guess I can’t say ‘elitist’, but why make something like this for a public gallery?”

Now it was Monty’s turn to frown. God, _he_ better not get wrinkles from this. “It’s just flowers.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Felicity straighten up and turn, quick, to him. But she was odd on her best days, so he continued. “And the back of a head, I guess, but he has some _far_ less appropriate art in this gallery. Not that any of it is any good— or accurate, even. Even I could do better, from what I’ve—”

“You see in color?” Felicity interrupted, the curiosity in her voice sounding more genuine than any emotion he’d heard from her in a while. Which was worrying. If Felicity had reason to be curious, signs showed that Monty should be as well.

“What?”

“Because the only option is that you actually read the description of the painting, and I find that _far_ less likely—”

“No, I didn’t read the placard, why do they even _have_ those, why would anyone _read_ about _art_ — what does that have to do with me seeing in color?”

“You can see the painting, right? The actual details and all?” Monty nodded. “So you see in color.” Incredulous, like she couldn’t see what Monty didn’t get about this.

“Felicity, we both know you already consider me an idiot, so would you mind just explaining what this apparently means?”

Felicity sighed and crossed her arms, looking almost bored now. “I guess you can’t tell, since it’s all in color for you, but it’s one of those paintings, you know, where the artist uses all the same saturation and brightness for all his paints, so that it just looks like an undefined mess to anyone who can’t see color. That way, only those who have ‘felt love for a soulmate can experience the painting that spurred from such a love,” she read from the booklet, grimacing. “It’s so pompous, as if his art weren’t bad enough.” While he was trying to figure out what the hell to say to this, she continued: “And you know, it isn’t much a surprise— that you have a soulmate— and it isn’t like we talk, but I would’ve thought it would come up at some point.”

“I don’t. I don’t— I don’t see in color, Felicity,” he insisted. The bored expression flipped back right into curiosity. “I don’t know who my soulmate is, I can’t see in color.”

“But you can see the painting?”

“Yes, I can see the bloody painting, Felicity, but I _can’t see in color_ , are you trying to pull something on me?” Because that was all that could be true, he knew damn well he didn’t see in color, his eyesight never changed, and he would have noticed if he’d been seeing in color his whole bloody life—

“Why on earth would I? I don’t give a damn if you have a soulmate or not, I just thought it was odd that you never told anyone. Well, I suppose you would have told Percy, but outside from him.”

Oh, god, _Percy_. Percy. Percy, who kissed Monty before he was old enough to remember it. Percy, whom he loved and who loved him. Percy, the only person Monty had ever wanted to be his soulmate. _Christ_.

“Are you being serious, though, about never having your vision change?”

With a laugh that held no humor, Monty said, “As a bloody heartattack.”

“But it still must have changed, just not when you could remember it. Maybe it happened while you were blacked out drunk?” Monty was too busy reeling to interrupt her with a negative, before she could do so herself. “No, no, you would’ve realized when you woke up. So then, it must’ve happened—”

“While I was too young to remember it. When I wouldn’t have noticed a shift, and wouldn’t have remembered kissing someone.”

Felicity looked surprised for a moment. “Yes, actually, do you—”

“I have to get some air.”

In the moment it took Felicity to gain enough clarity to call out an exasperated, “Monty!”, he was already halfway to the gallery door. He really wasn’t supposed to leave—that was the whole reason he had to have Felicity chaperoning him—but if his father had something to say about it, fucking _fine_. For once, that wasn’t actually Monty’s biggest concern. Rather, that went to ‘trying not to have a panicked episode in the middle of an art show’, and currently, that wasn’t going too well.

The night air, thank God, was actually cool. If it had been the smothering heat of a summer day, he might’ve just given up on breathing altogether. But, as he found a nice spot behind the gallery’s shrubbery to hide, he could actually feel some air getting into his lungs. He sat down, rested his forehead on his knees, and just tried to steady his breath.

God, he wished Percy were with him.

Then he immediately wished he didn’t wish that, cause that was just pathetic. Percy didn’t even— 

No, no, he was not going to focus on that now.

Once enough oxygen had got to his brain that he wasn’t on the verge of panicking, he took in the world around him. The world which was, apparently, in color. Christ. Unless Felicity was lying, or trying to pull one over on him, but he honestly didn’t see why she would do that, he’d been misunderstanding the world around him for a decade and a half. Maybe that just made him an idiot.

But he’d always— well, he’d always thought the world was vibrant enough. It always seemed to have the dimension that artists ascribed to colored sight. All things considered, he really should have known. But he’d just figured that was just him, just a way to rationalize his lack of a soulmate, to tell himself that things were well enough on their own.

He dug his fingers into the cool, barely-dewy grass around him, looking for something physical, something there, something he _knew_ , to ground him. He wondered what color it was. He wondered what color his suit was, or Felicity’s dress, or the sky, or Percy’s freckles, or the outside of his house. He knew the names of some colors, overheard from time to time— blue, red, green, maybe?— but to what shade they referred, he had no idea. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what color _was_ , or how he’d know where one color ended and another began. The world was— he’d always thought— 

God, he was an idiot, wasn’t he?

“Are you going to explain, or not?”

He looked up to see Felicity standing above him, hands on her hips, peering down at him with not quite enough condescension to mask the curiosity. He sighed. “Why are you even asking? You don't care.” He couldn’t even force his voice into sounding nonchalant. He just sounded so tired.

“I wouldn't say that I don't care at all.”

“We don't talk.”

“No, we don't, but you have presented me with an odd situation and I have a theory, and I like to see those through.” Monty just looked at her for a moment, until she sighed, sat down, and continued, “Also, you took my book. Whatever conversation we're about to have is far more interesting than being in there, sans-reading material, looking at paintings I can't even see.”

“Fine.” Spilling out his troubles to his _sister_ wasn’t exactly an appealing concept, but the one friend he had was clearly not an option, so it wasn’t like he had another choice. “I was— recently informed, by a—” He couldn’t say ‘friend’, since he apparently only had one of those. He really should make some more. “—by someone, that the two of us had kissed when we were both very young. Three years old. And that it hadn’t worked. But, apparently, it did. For me. Jury’s out as for h— as for the other one.”

“Well, okay, that doesn’t help me that much.” Felicity looked up as if calculating something. “Alright, the bit that is giving me trouble is that you cannot be talking about anyone but Percy,” Monty winced, which likely only gave her more evidence. “Since I haven’t seen you talk to anyone besides our family and him in what could vaguely be construed as ‘recent’, and I’m fairly certain you have known no one else since you were that young. But. Two men can’t be soulmates.”

“I thought that too,” Monty admitted, not making eye contact with her. “And yet, Percy is, it seems, is it for me.”

“Could it be a platonic bond?”

Monty laughed, a harsh, stifled sound. Talking about this with his _sister_. Jesus Christ. “Not for me.” Then, “Not for him, either. I hope.”

Felicity was quiet for long enough that Monty actually looked over to make sure she hadn’t gone comatose from the scandal of it all. But when he looked, her eyebrows were just gently furrowed, and when she said, “But it’s a _sin_ ,” she sounded unsure.

“Then God owes us some explanation, because both things can’t be right.”

“I don’t think you’re lying about seeing in color,” Felicity said. “If simply because I can’t imagine that, if you didn’t, you’d be out here instead of taking this opportunity to sneak back inside to flirt with that girl.”

“I appreciate the confidence, Felicity.”

“And if you’re not lying,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, “then the fault would have to lie in a misunderstanding of your soulmate _is_. And you said that Percy told you it didn’t work when the two of you kissed. And that’s the impasse here, because I’m not inclined to believe in coincidence, and the idea that there is someone you know, that you kissed when you were young, that you are now close with, but who _isn’t_ your soulmate, is frankly ridiculous. If it were a woman, I’d say she’s just lying about it failing to work. But since it’s Percy—”

“Since it’s Percy, you think it could be someone else.”

Felicity sighed, and in the cool of the night air, Monty could just see the fog of her breath. He wanted to think it was white, the color quickly disappearing into the air. He knew what color white was, and black, and that all that lay in-between was some shade of grey— or so he’d been told. But, apparently, everything that was not black or white was its own color, and Monty hadn’t known. And he couldn’t even trust the breath to be white, now.

“Honestly, Monty,” she said, quiet in the air. “I don’t know. I don’t know. But it is a sin, that’s something we _know_.”

“We all sin, Felicity. I’ve seen you read on the holy day,” Monty gestured to the book in his pocket. “Look, the Bible says women aren’t supposed to talk in church! Aren’t there a million insignificant actions things that are classified as sins by that institution?”

“I _know_ that, Monty, I’m not saying everything in the Bible should be interpreted literally. But it isn’t— _easy_ , to figure these things out. If it turns out to be true, if Percy’s your soulmate, then fine. It isn’t a sin. Hell, for all the fight I’m putting up, there is a damn good chance he is. Like I said, coincidence like that isn’t common, I’d say it is impossible.”

“So what then?”

“You talk to him about it, obviously.”

“I tried that,” Monty said, trying and failing to not sound bitter. “And he rejected me, so—”

With a tilt of her head, Felicity asked, “What do you mean?”

“I told him—” Dear Lord, he was really telling his sister about this, wasn’t he? Maybe loving Percy really was a sin, and this was his Hell. “I told him I… cared for him. And he said he felt the same. But when I came to saying that, regardless of soulmates, I wanted to be with him, like—Christ, it wouldn’t be a ‘relationship’, but you know—he refused.”

“Monty—”

But he’d said this much, and he might as well finish it. “And I agree about the coincidence thing and, besides, I’ve known for years that I don’t want to have my soul matched with anyone but Percy, so when there is a damn real chance he might be it for me, I don’t believe for a second that it could be anyone else. So we can take that one off the table. And you seem to like theories, so here are mine: either he’s known this whole time that we were soulmates and he just doesn’t want me and everything he said was a lie, or it really didn’t work for him, and this bond is one-sided. And neither of those options are ideal, but I will take either over not having him be my soulmate.”

Felicity stared at him for a long moment, before saying, “Why did he reject you?”

“Oh, is that it? I thought you might have some insight, maybe even one of those funny little quips you do on occasion to lighten the mood, but _no_ , go straight for dredging up—”

“Jesus Christ, Monty, just answer the question.”

“I don’t _know_ why he rejected me, Felicity. I thought I made that clear.” He _huffed_ and pouted, then sighed. “But if you want to know what he _said_ , he told me he didn’t want to be with me because he wasn’t my soulmate, because I had a soulmate that wasn’t him. He was acting like it was some— some sort of _favor_ he was doing me, letting me be free to find my soulmate, which was such _shit_ , honestly, even when I told him I wanted him, that it makes me think that it all must have been a lie, the worst way of giving me a gentle rejection, because why else would he— what.” He interrupted himself as he caught sight of Felicity’s face.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for his sister to look at him like he was the stupidest thing that ever had the misfortune of being unleashed on the world, but tied up with the disdain, annoyance, and disappointment in this look was an eyebrow-raised, open-mouthed expression of being absolutely confounded. “Monty.”

“What?”

“Monty, how on earth?”

“ _What_?”

“Let me get this straight. He rejected you, not because of wanting to find his own soulmate, but because he wanted _you_ to find _yours_. He never said anything about himself, or looking for his soulmate, or any of that?”

Monty looked at her, then off to the side, then back, trying to figure out what he was missing. “Yes?”

Felicity buried her face in on hand. “Oh, dear Lord. Alright. Fine. The church is wrong, it’s not a sin, you and Percy are soulmates. I take back every objection I’ve had. But _how_ did you let me continue on with those objections when you had the most relevant piece of information with you the whole time?”

“Felicity, what are you on about?”

“Oh, I know,” Felicity said over him. “It’s because you’re an idiot, who can’t even parse the most obvious clue about the whole thing that was thrown at him.”

“What are you talking about!”

“Alright. Alright, I’ll try to do this slowly, try as you will to follow. Although, honestly, I don’t know why I do you any favors, especially after making me deal with all of this—”

“ _Making_ you? _You_ came out and started talking to _me_ —”

“I’m not going to look at the bloody art, Monty, talking to you may be purgatory but that gallery is Hell, thank you, but listen to me because I’m going to give you something to think about.” She paused to take a breath. “I know you think Percy hung the moon and stars, but has it ever occured to you that, maybe, he is as much of an idiot as you are? That while yes, he has known all along that you were his soulmate, he wasn’t hiding it from you because he didn’t want you, but rather because he _did_? And I don’t pretend to understand the drama you two are forcing yourselves into, but I can imagine it would sting to spend fifteen years watching your soulmate sleep with any person he could get his hands on and complain all the while about not having a soulmate, just because he was too blind to see that his world had been in color the whole time. So, _maybe_ , Percy is a self-sacrificing idiot who thought that he was destined for you but not the other way around, and couldn’t stand the thought of being with you, his soulmate, if that meant keeping you from yours.”

Oh, dear Lord.

“Given, that _is_ just a theory, but do you think that that is maybe a _bit_ more likely than the one-in-a-million chance that you have an unrequited soulmate, or the probably even smaller chance that Percy, your best friend and a man you think the world of, would lie about having feelings for you to, what, toy with you? Would he really do that, Monty?”

_Fuck_.

“Now,” she said, standing and dusting off her skirt. “You think about that for a bit. I’m going to see if the art show is finished.”

She turned away and walked off, leaving Monty to an indescribably vibrant world and the realization that, as blind as he’d been to color, he’d been even more blind to something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- end line is cheesy, but what am i going to do, actually make an attempt to fix it?
> 
> -if it isn't obvious, i adore felicity
> 
> -larissa is a lesbian. specifically, the 18th-century version of lacey from my other fic. the mispronounce_and_misaccent tggtvav fanfic universe (mtfu) is real.
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading, and special thanks to anyone who commented for their kind words and feedback. yall make my life. have an amazing day!!!


	4. Chapter 4

Percy loved music. It was a truth about himself, as unchangeable as his sense of humor or the color of his eyes or the everpresent draw he felt towards his best friend. He’d loved it since he was a child, he paid it much of his time and attention, he considered so woven in his soul that it was part of his being.

In many ways, he loved music like he loved Monty.

Of course those two loves had found themselves intertwined, he thought, as he drew his bow in a long, steady motion over the strings of his violin. _Not quite right_. Frowning, he tried another note, and, yes, that was better. He opened his eyes, sighed, and marked down the change on the sheet. It was silly, really, to write music about Monty. It was Percy’s own fault that he hadn’t seen his soulmate in a week, so what right did he have to compose melancholy little songs?

Besides— he thought, just a bit bitter— it wasn’t even thematically significant.

Maybe, had his life been more poetic, he would've been naturally inclined towards the visual arts. He would've used those colors Monty had given him to paint detailed, vibrant scenes over once-blank canvas. He would've painted so many things— the love of his life, his aunt and uncle, the grounds around his home, the most exotic flowers in the Montague's greenhouse, the corner of the attic where he and Monty would hide as children. He would've painted every crucial moment, everything he'd miss so much, when he was pulled away at the end of the summer.

But his life, he knew well by then, was not poetic. He couldn't sketch a bowl of fruit, let alone capture the way Monty draped himself over furniture, or the exact quirk of the smile that had made Percy's heart first skip a beat. So he would make do with his silly poetry and his sillier compositions, and stop wishing for things he could never have. He didn’t have Monty, but he had music, and to that, he could dedicate his love.

He played over the last section of his piece again. It began with a plucking of the strings, short and quick and hopeful— a hurried confession— followed by, with the bow, a number of low, soft notes— a reassurance and a rejection at once. Then more high notes, a quick _spiccato_ , loud with force, curiosity— Monty’s anger, the questions he posed— every so often interspersed with a low, wavering note— his own timidity, his own insufficient answers. The high notes reached a crescendo, Percy’s fingers and bow darting over the strings almost faster than he could keep track of, louder and faster and then— 

Silence.

Then, in quiet, gentle _ritardando_ : 

Three low, plucked notes— ‘ _If I had you, and you left me, it would destroy me_.’

Those same three notes, echoed octaves above; slower still and tired— ‘ _You really haven’t listened to a word I’ve said_.’

He drew the bow over one last, low note, hearing in it the exact feeling of watching Monty walk away, and letting it linger in the air before ultimately returning the bow to his side, and opening his eyes to the full-color world in which he resided alone.

“Jesus Christ, Perce.”

Percy started, the bow nearly falling out of his hand as he swiveled towards the doorway. And there he was, Monty, standing straight against the wall, with that wide-eyed, parted-lips expression which Percy knew well. It was the expression he wore when Percy had first worked up the courage to share some of his poetry, as they were leaving a show that had Monty enraptured, when he was marvelling at some beautiful woman at a party. It was an expression with which he’d sometimes looked at Percy, for reasons Percy never let himself dissect, to avoid any hope crawling into his chest. He knew why, now, he supposed, and nothing was better for it.

“Monty,” Percy started, before quickly realizing he had nothing to say. “Hi.”

Monty smiled, his eyes still glowing with fondness. “Hi.” He walked towards Percy. “You see, this is what I mean when I say you should play for me more often.”

“It’s still in progress,” Percy said, automatically. He stepped backwards, putting his violin back in his case and wondering if this was it, then. If this was the inevitable falling back together he and Monty always had after fighting, if they were just going to never talk about it again. That was for the best, really. It’s what Percy wanted, after all, for them to just be what they were. There was no reason for that tight coil of disappointment in his chest. “It’ll be better when it’s finished.”

“Can’t imagine it being much better than that.” Percy scoffed and rolled his eyes. He tried not to flinch away as Monty got closer to him, and to not panic when Monty grabbed the sheet music off the stand and ran his fingers over the penciled-in notes. Percy hadn’t titled the piece, thank God, so there should be nothing to clue Monty in on the song’s muse. “Wait, darling, did you _write this_?”

Percy could feel his face heat under Monty’s surprised, delighted gaze. “It’s a work-in-progress,” he prefaced. “But, yes.”

“Why’d you never tell me you composed?”

“They’re not good enough yet.” It wasn’t a full lie. He knew he was good at the violin— very good, when playing other’s pieces, and still a talent, performing his own. But he still had a long way to go. And showing something so personal… Monty would be the only person he’d trust to show it to, and when so many of the songs were about him— 

“Oh, god, stop— you know I, of all people, am not looking for modesty. It was fantastic, Perce.” He put a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “ _You_ are fantastic.”

He’d stepped into the windowed alcove, and the sunlight gilded his face. He was radiant, the cool tones of his skin warmed by the sunlight until he was glowing and bright, and it had been barely more than a week since Percy had seen him, but the longing rushed back in like it had been years. It had been pointless to pretend what had happened wouldn’t change things. Monty had touched him more intimately than a hand on a shoulder before. He’d looked more lovely than he did there. He’d flirted far more obviously. But now that he knew how Monty felt— 

Percy stepped away. “Monty, what are you doing here?”

“Can’t come to see my favorite person?” Monty asked, as undisturbed as the glass of water Percy had set out for himself and forgotten. “And don’t give me any of that look, you know it’s true. I meant what I said, last week.”

“Are we talking about this?”

“Perce, I think we have to.” Then, sitting down on the chaise and drawing shapes on the fabric with his finger, “But, if you’d rather put it off, you could always play me more of that lovely instrument.”

Percy cracked a delicate, half-formed smile, despite the nerves tying up his stomach. “A win either way for me,” he said, dry.

“If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to talk at all. I’m the one with something to say. It’s your choice, whether or not you want to respond.”

“I’m not going to ignore you, Monty.” He clicked the final clasps of his violin case in place, and turned back to his friend. The room where he played was small— almost like an attic, with a gorgeous view over the estate— and it took barely a moment to cross over the patch of sun to stand next to where Monty had perched himself. Monty smiled up at him and, yes. This was what mattered. Him and Monty, against the world, like it had always had been. Dancing around, melancholy, and distance were all blocks in the perfect plan of the two of them, and Percy wasn’t going to allow that to go on. They would be friends as they should be, for whatever time they had left, at whatever cost. He needed Monty.

“Good.” Monty took Percy’s hand in his own, twining their fingers together. “I’ve been looking for the right words to say this for two days now, and I still haven’t got a clue. I thought Felicity would give me a hand with it, but she’s quite content to let me flounder.”

“How out of character for her.” Percy liked Felicity, he really did— her deadpan was funny, and she was one of the smartest people he knew, and, under all the snark, he knew she really had a good heart that was suffering in that house just as Monty’s was— but he didn’t feel much remorse for the joke when he saw Monty snort, a short, embarrassing little laugh.

“Alright, so maybe I should’ve expected it. But really, I promise you I had somewhat of a plan. It’s just all gotten away from me.” He wasn’t meeting Percy’s eyes; rather, looking down to trace swirling designs around Percy’s knuckles and fingers with the hand that wasn’t clasped around Percy’s. Looking closer, Percy noticed how different those hands looked. Where, the week previous, Monty’s nails had been manicured and buffed to perfection, they were now bitten down and cracked and worn with stress. “But, I suppose I should just— say it.

“Percy, darling, I see in color.”

And Percy felt his heart plummet to his stomach.

“What?” he whispered. He’d known this would happen, he reminded himself. He’d _begged_ Monty to find this. But… He hadn’t thought it would be _so soon_.

Monty was smiling. Twinged with nerves, but beyond that, he was _happy_. “You know, Perce. It’s all—” He gestured around. “It’s all color. I can _see_ it.” Monty was happy, and Percy was selfish, so selfish that he wished this wasn’t happening. But he thought he’d have time! He thought— No, this was what he wanted. This was his doing, so he had to just smile and take it.

“I— Monty that’s—” He could feel his smile faltering from the moment he tried to form it. But what did it matter? Monty already knew how he felt. He’d made it so clear last week, and feigned happiness would buy him nothing. “When did it change?”

Monty looked at him for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed like he didn’t understand. Then, suddenly, he laughed. “Oh, Perce, you don’t— _It didn’t_. It never changed.” He put his other hand on Percy’s arm to steady him, which was probably a good thing. He didn’t really trust himself standing at the moment. “It’s been like this as long as I can remember, but I was a fucking idiot who didn’t even notice until visiting an _art gallery_ , of all things.”

“Monty, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying—” He moved his hand from Percy’s arm to his shoulder, guiding him down to sit on the arm of the couch, the exact positions they’d held last week. “That unless I kissed someone else before I was old enough to remember it— which I very much doubt, coincidence and all that—” He cupped his hand around Percy’s face. “You’re my soulmate, darling.”

Oh, God.

“And that—” Monty continued, pulling his one hand back into his lap, but not letting go of Percy’s hand with the other. In his periphery, Percy could see the smile on Monty’s face flicker and turn half-feigned. Probably because Percy hadn’t actually responded at all, too busy staring down at their hands and wondering if he could trust the coiled tightness in his chest he wanted to call hope. “That was really the main issue, right? You worrying about— about keeping me from my soulmate? And you aren’t! Because you, you’re it for me, Perce, and we can—”

“Are you?”

“I—” and then he was frowning. “Am I what?”

“Are you my soulmate, really? Are you sure?” Because even as light and warm as the hope in his chest was, he didn’t trust it. He couldn’t. A decade, more than that, he’d _known_ that Monty wasn’t. He’d ached with wanting this to be true for _years_ , and that couldn’t suddenly change. Hoping would just make it worse when it turned out to be false. “I want to believe you, Monty, of course I do, but— You have to know this looks convenient.”

“Convenient?”

“Monty, you know— you said it yourself, this is the one thing I told you I needed for us to work. And then you come back a week later, saying it was always true, that you just didn’t know, it’s just—”

“Wait, are you saying I’m trying to trick you into a relationship?” Monty wrenched his hand from Percy’s. “Jesus, Perce, if you don’t want to be with me, come out and say it. But whether you like it or not, you are my soulmate, and I am in love with you.” Percy met his gaze, steely with pride but soft with fear. “I love you, Percy, and I want to be with you, but I would never _lie_ to try to get that. If you really don’t believe me, you can ask Felicity. She was there when I nearly had a panic in the middle of an art gallery over a painting I thought I shouldn’t be able to see, and you know she wouldn’t lie for me.”

“It isn’t that I don’t believe you.” He chased Monty’s pulled-away hand with his own, taking it again. “But I— I’ve wanted this for so long, Monty, you have no idea.” He could hear the crack in his voice and hoped to God he wasn’t about to cry. “And the whole time, I was telling myself it was impossible, that I could never— never be _it_ for you, no matter what I wanted, and telling myself to not even hope and now it just— it seems so easy. Too easy.”

“Easy is what it should be,” Monty said, cautiously unfurling his fingers from his fist to curl around Percy’s. “Isn’t that the whole point of this system?”

“It was never going to be easy with us, darling.” Percy smiled, the warmth of Monty’s hand in his seeming to travel directly to his chest, sun under which that curl of hope could bloom. “You promise? You promise this is real?”

“Soulmates or not, Perce, this has always been real.” He returned his smile. “But yes, darling, you are my soulmate. Like it was ever a question, who I would spend my life in love with.” Then, dropping his gaze once again to his and Percy’s hands. “I think the better question is— well, Perce, am I yours?”

Before Percy could even think to respond, Monty was already speaking. “And it’s perfectly alright if I’m not. If you don’t— that doesn’t make me want you any less. But, really, with what Felicity was saying about the impossibility of coincidence, and how rare it is for bonds to be one-sided, and how—”

“Your eyes are blue.”

“—you said you feel about—” Monty stumbled over above Percy, before the words caught up with him, and he made eye contact. “What?”

“Darling, your eyes are blue.” Percy reached out, cautious. He didn’t touch Monty’s face until Monty leaned into him, and then he lightly ran this thumb over the outer edge of his eye socket. “Light, usually, and, in direct sunlight, flecked with a blue so pale it’s almost white. But in the shade, or when you get upset, they look darker, almost oceanic.”

“Perce—” Monty started, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“No, I’m not done. I’ve been writing poetry about this for years, you can listen for a minute. It’s about you, anyway.” Monty shut his mouth, and Percy continued. “Your hair…” He reached up to card his fingers through the unstyled, for once, locks. “Brown, like mine, but far, far lighter, and gold, almost. Like— darling, do you remember that beach we went to, years ago?” Monty nodded. “Those sand dunes? When we went around the back of them, where the sand was shadowed over, but certain grains still glinted? That’s close.

“Your skin is all cool tones— unless you’re blushing, when it’s warm, soft pink.” He traced Monty’s cheekbone with one finger. “Your favorite jacket is green, but half the time you wear it with those hideous blue shoes, and it looks god awful together, but I could never tell you that, but, apparently, you’ve been able to see colors this whole time, so you should’ve known!”

“No, I miss the compliments on my dashing appearance, go back to those.”

“You are the most vibrant, the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Monty. And you’re my soulmate.”

Monty laughed, softer and quieter than he had before, and then pressed their foreheads together. “You’ve known this whole time?”

Percy nodded. “It was hell, not telling you. I meant what I said, at first, keeping it hidden because I thought I might lose you if I didn’t. But as we got older, I, I fell in love with you, darling.” Monty smiled, and even now that made Percy’s heart race. “And seeing how bright and happy you were, how many people adored you and how many people you met that you adored, I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want— you know I can’t stand pity, Monty, and I didn’t want that, or for you to feel obligated to be with me—”

Monty shook his head and laughed. “God, like you could even be an obligation. Before I even knew I loved you, I wanted to spend my entire life by your side. In every way that matters, I’ve always known you were _it_ for me.” He draped his forearms over Percy’s shoulders. “Damn shame it took me _fifteen years_ to figure out what you got at age three.”

“If we’re going to be throwing blame around, we could start with my own assumption that it was more likely that I had an unrequited soulmate than that a three-year-old would remember a shift in sight of which he’d have no idea the meaning.”

“But that’s— no, actually, you’re right, we could go back and forth like this for ages. Let’s just agree to say, we’re two blind idiots with barely any sense between us, and _maybe_ try to be a bit better with the communication?”

Percy was smiling with Monty’s words, ready to play along, until he hit the word ‘communication’. And then he remembered— _Holland_. He remembered— _this can’t last_. He remembered— _after the Tour, he’s gone_. He remembered, there are things soulmates can’t fix.

He shifted away from Monty, just enough so that they could make eye contact. “About that, Monty, there’s— there’s something I haven’t told you.”

Worry flashed over Monty’s expression quick as a flicker of a candle not quite holding its flame, before he was smiling again. “Have I just not asked you enough questions in our friendship, Perce? Cause you have a lot more secrets than I’d thought.”

“It’s not a good thing, Monty. It’s— it’s quite bad, honestly.” Because how do you tell the love of your life that you’re leaving him? How do you tell a man in the height of happiness that that joy has a rapidly approaching expiration date?

He’d figured— as much as Monty cared about Percy (and even at his lowest, Percy had known he meant a great deal to Monty), friendships do just fade sometimes. Monty would probably just assume that’s what happened when he stopped hearing from Percy. And he’d be _sad_ , sure, but he’d have been able to get over it. But there was a profound difference between having one’s friend, even their closest friend, disappear to another country and one’s soulmate doing so. It couldn’t just go unsaid, but to ruin this moment— 

Monty had dropped the smile, and was covering Percy’s hands with his own. “Darling, you can tell me anything, you know that. It’s just— it isn’t about the soulmate thing or, or about loving me, though, right?”

“No, no that’s all very, very true.” And more painful that it was. “I don’t know if I want to tell you. Not right now. Not when we’re— happy, like this.” There were some merits to telling him now, of course, most prominently the opportunity to figure out how the hell they were going to deal with this. And Percy knew there was a solution. He hadn't been joking, not really, when he said he'd run away with Monty. There was no future for him on the path he was currently walking, not that which led him away from Monty and his violin and the vibrance of the countryside and all the things that made life worth living. But he couldn’t… he couldn’t bear to hear Monty tell him ‘no’. Nor could he bear to ruin what was supposed to be their happiness with this.

But he needed to stop making unilateral decisions.

“If you want me to tell you,” Percy continued. “I will. I don’t like keeping things from you. And this is something important. But it is also something sad, something that will mean heavy discussion and negotiation and, honestly, I would rather just spend the evening being your soulmate and pretending there’s nothing and no one else in the world. But say the word, and I’ll tell you, whenever you’d like me to.”

Monty looked at him for a long moment, opened his mouth as if to say something and closed it, and did that again, and once more. Then, finally, asked, “It won’t make a difference, if you tell me today or tomorrow or a few days from now?”

“Not a significant one.”

He was quiet for another few seconds. Then, looking up to meet Percy’s eyes, he cracked a small smile and nodded. “I trust you, Perce. If you say it doesn’t matter right now, that I’ll be happier putting it off, I believe you. And, you know what, I’ve been pining after you for a good couple of years now, I’m betting it’s been longer for you, and, dammit, I say we deserve some happiness.” He leaned back into Percy, so close that Percy could no longer meet his eyes. His breath was warm and even against the corner of Percy’s mouth, and it did wonders to uncoil the tight knot of worry in his stomach. Monty was right, they deserved this. “I don’t give a damn about the future, not right now. Right now, I really just want you to kiss me.”

“I think I can oblige you that,” Percy murmured, and then did exactly that.

When they pulled away, Percy opened his eyes to a bright, vibrant world with Monty glowing at the center. And, he knew, Monty was seeing the exact same myriad of colors, looking at him.

Just as it was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it!!
> 
> i had a couple bonuses planned for this fic, but since it seems I probably won't end up writing them, here's the gist:  
> \- instead of kissing and then being horrid at communication in the private box, Monty and Percy just spend the time making out. its good.  
> \- instead of monty flirting/playing strip poker with that girl at the palace, he and percy go to a room to, again, make out. When they hear people coming, Percy hides and Monty runs out as a distraction, taking the box with him. percy gets out fine, and monty faces the same consequences as in the book  
> \- they have the discussion about epilepsy the same time/place as the book, just with monty's added realization of, oh, this is what percy was talking about.  
> \- everything else follows the book canon pretty much!! some of the monty/percy dynamic would be a bit shifted, but they can still have their fights and make ups.
> 
> aside from all that, thank you to everyone who's stuck along for this fic, or who's just picking it up now. yall are amazing and i love hearing from you-- kudos and comments are so greatly appreciated. have a fantastic day!
> 
> edit: shoomdltastic did a lovely art inspired by this fic!! [ check it out!!! ](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz0l1jhD3OJ/?igshid=5c9w1sfvkckb)


End file.
